


Les Mains

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hair Kink, Hand & Finger Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a thing for Feuilly's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Mains

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Inspired By This Tumblr Post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/31227) by thecoffeetragedy. 



Feuilly let out a low whistle as he pulled off his gloves, rubbing his hands rapidly together and blowing on the cool skin. His apartment was small and the heating was on, but it took a while for the warmth to spread from the radiators, and even then the place wasn’t cosy, the windows were badly insulated. He felt bad for Enjolras, whose own apartment was a damn sight better than Feuilly’s own, but the blond hadn’t said a thing.

He looked up from the map in front of him, looking at Feuilly’s hands before his eyes flickered back up to the other man’s face. And then, he dropped his pen and reached out, slender hands taking Feuilly’s in his, and he rubbed over the skin as Feuilly had been doing.

Enjolras’ hands were warm, and Feuilly felt his cheeks colour as he let Enjolras cup his hands, fingers tickling and gentle across Feuilly’s palms. Feuilly’s mouth was dry as Enjolras’ hands slowed their attentions, and Feuilly’s hands were warmer now, but Enjolras continued to examine them.

He regarded the rough, calloused skin of Feuilly’s palms and the pads of his fingers, and then Enjolras turned Feuilly’s hands over, regarding the backs. “Combeferre’s been learning the bones of the hand this week.” Enjolras said, and Feuilly remembered that Enjolras was still doing his a-levels, that he was barely eighteen, and that Feuilly was firmly two years his senior, even if Enjolras was aged beyond his years and sharing a place with Combeferre rather than remaining with his parents.

"Do you know them?"

"Not at all." Enjolras said, and he grinned, drawing a weak chuckle from Feuilly’s mouth. "You have nice hands." He said, and his thumb traced thoughtfully over a lingering, crescent shaped scar on the back of Feuilly’s right hand, near the wrist.

"Yours are nicer than mine."

"Mine are just unworked." was all Enjolras said, and he told no lie: Enjolras’ hands were soft and smooth, slender and without mars on the skin, but this was not to say they were unskilled - Feuilly knew that Enjolras could play not only piano but, given sufficient alcohol and goading from his fellows, the accordion.

Enjolras leaned, hair dropping from where it settled at the back of his neck to over his shoulder, and pressed his lips to Feuilly’s knuckles, on one hand and then the other. The touches of that pretty mouth were soft and full of heat, fleeting though they were, and Feuilly let out a quiet sigh.

"You are a firm maverick, Enjolras." The blond laughed, and Feuilly removed one hand from Enjolras’ to tangle in that gorgeous hair, and Enjolras’ laughed slowed and morphed into a pleasured sigh. He pressed into the touch, and Feuilly gently combed through the thick curls with a tender hand.

"Let us take a break." Enjolras said softly, gesturing to the maps they were using for a demonstration in town later than week, and Feuilly hummed his agreement, removing his hand from the other’s hair to stand. "No, put it back." Enjolras protested, and he moved closer to Feuilly, straddling his legs and capturing the older man’s lips in a firm kiss.

"God." Feuilly murmured, and then his hands were in Enjolras’ hair again, both of them this time, as the blond steadied his hands on Enjolras’ shoulder and he pressed eagerly into the embrace. When he scratched at the other’s scalp, an experiment, Enjolras  _keened_ , trembling in his place, and Feuilly chuckled. 

"This is the real reason you chose my apartment over yours." He said, and Enjolras shrugged, his aristocratic face the very picture of nonchalance.

"Shan’t deny it." Feuilly put both hands up, curling into the locks and enjoying the sensation of the hair between his fingers, almost, it would seem, as much as Enjolras enjoyed the touch of his hands. "This is good." He said, his eyes closed. "Want your hands on me."

"Where?"

"Lower." Feuilly slowly brought his hands down to Enjolras’ neck, playing over the sensitive skin there with his thumbs. "Mmm, lower." Feuilly tugged Enjolras’ shirt from his trousers and pressed his fingers up and underneath the fabric, stroking over his abs and thumbing over his nipples.

Enjolras let out a choked noise, and Feuilly dragged his hands down, slowly, impossibly slowly, teasing over his ribs, his stomach, down to his hips. “Lower.” Enjolras bit out in a soft voice, and Feuilly chuckled. 

"We should move, then."

"Move your  _hands.”_ Enjolras demanded, and Feuilly brought them back up, thumbing over Enjolras’ nipples as he had before, fingers cruel and clever on the skin there; the blond nearly  _yowled_ , arching up and into the touches for more. “Dear God above.”

"Laurent is alright." Feuilly said lightly, and Enjolras  _moaned_  the name, pressing closer as he did so. 

"Fuck." Feuilly whispered, taking in the graceful, slender curves to the blond’s body, and he dug his nails into Enjolras’ sides, not hard, not hard, just enough to leave slight white lines as he dragged them down, and Enjolras cried out for more. "You really like these hands, huh?"

"What do you think?" Enjolras asked in a strangled voice, and Feuilly  _bit_  at his neck.

"I think you’ve got a thing for hands."

"Your hands."

"Just my hands?"

“ _Laurent_.” Enjolras moaned again, and Feuilly could not really hold himself back. 

"Bed. Bed, bed, bed-" And he took no qualm with simply lifting Enjolras off his lap, leading him rapidly out of the room. Enjolras sprawled on the mattress as if he were made to be there, and Feuilly shook his head at him, him and the damn stretch of his limbs, the spread of his legs, the cascade of hair on the bed around him.

Enjolras wriggled out of his pants, kicking them to the floor, revealing his lack of underwear.

"You aren’t wearing- Dear  _God_ -“

"Come touch me." Enjolras said plaintively, winking, and Feuilly laughed as he threw himself forwards, straddling Enjolras and pinning him with the weight of his thighs as he began to unbutton the other’s shirt.

"Courfeyrac give you a few pointers on seduction?" Enjolras’ smug expression faltered, replaced with a little laugh and a flush to his cheeks.

"I- well. A few, maybe." Feuilly laughed. "That’s no problem at all." He said, and then he leaned to capture Enjolras’ mouth in a new kiss, fantastic hands stroking over Enjolras’ cheek and his shoulder as he did so. 


End file.
